Millius had seen Commander Rigellus spare the miners on the outer Confed colonies. But he knew his people would face a different situation on Santis. They weren’t passing through. This wasn’t a raid. They were here to take the planet…and hold it. When the fleet arrived, its ships would need to refuel. And his people had to make sure the tritium they would need was waiting for them.

And I don’t have enough strength to worry about prisoners…

Commander Rigellus hadn’t given him any orders about how to handle ops on the ground. The decision was his. And while he was no more inherently bloodthirsty than Invictus’s commander, he already knew what he had to do. The mission came first, whatever was required. It was the way.

“Three kilometers.”

“Alright, troopers…double check all weapons. We’re going to hit the ground in two minutes.”

He glanced down at the heavy assault rifle laying across his legs, and punched a finger at the small control on the side to activate the self-diagnostic routine. The Gallius-VII assault rifle was the leading edge of Alliance weaponry. The AI-assisted gun incorporated considerable technology of subjugated planets, and in its superior capabilities, it manifested the Alliance’s mantra of strength through conquest.

Millius was still starting down when the small light turned green. Check.

“One kilometer.”

Millius closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself. He’d been in battle before, many times, and it was the same with each drop. He knew the slogans…Alliance warriors weren’t supposed to feel fear. He also knew that was nonsense. They didn’t admit fear, didn’t discuss it, didn’t allow it to dictate their actions. But he would have bet anything that every Alliance stormtrooper and spacer felt it.

He breathed deeply, in through his nose, out through his mouth. Five times. Like he did every time. He had no idea what was waiting for them, but he knew a civilian’s lucky shot could kill him as dead as a sniper’s bullet to the head. There was no room for carelessness in battle. None.

“Landing in ten seconds…”

“Okay, troopers…it’s time.” He gritted his teeth, prepared himself for the landing. A few seconds later, the craft hit the ground with a jarring thud. Then the harnesses popped open and the back hatch dropped, controlled by the ship’s AI.

Millius watched as his troopers poured out, in perfect order, the first few running out about ten meters and crouching down, forming a defensive perimeter in case of an enemy counterattack. The others followed, pushing farther forward, repeating the same tactic until the lander was empty.